


Pictures at an Exhibition

by Mattrition



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Gen, I'll add tags as the story continues, M/M, there are references to the houses but no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mattrition/pseuds/Mattrition
Summary: "I am a vulgar man but I assure you my music is not."





	1. I. Promenade

**Author's Note:**

> so!!! im planning on making this rather long with multiple chapters. this was pretty much just the intro to see how positive the reactions would be because i dont know about you guys but there needs to be more marching band au's
> 
> im actually from straya and moved to the states when i was 11/12 years old and chose to do marching band out of pure coincidence
> 
> now look at me!!! ive always found marching band fascinating as a little boy and - honestly - wholesome. its a very important part of me today and always will be. <3 
> 
> this work is also purely for my own amusement and i hope you all get enjoyment out of it!!!
> 
> (one last thing - if you'd like to proofread or collaborate on a work, please let me know!! i'm looking for both)
> 
> harry potter and all its characters do not belong to me - they belong to jk rowling

Of  _ course _ he got it. 

 

Draco sighs. It’s late July and it’s hot as _ balls _ ( _ because why in the world would you need an AC unit in an ungodly uni apartment? _ ) as he scrolls through his 1’238 unread emails. He blearily catches an email from his and Harry’s marching band director and he already knows what it’s about. 

 

‘ _ Good morning! It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! _

 

_ Below are the drum major and officer positions. I have taken great time and consideration for these positions and hope that you all take them with the utmost care and responsibility. Let’s make this year a great year!  _

 

  * _Dr. Kurt Alfshire, Director of Bands_ ’



 

Attached is a google doc that he glares at before reluctantly opening it. 

 

‘ _ The officer and drum major positions are as follows -  _

 

_ President: Draco Malfoy _

_ Treasurer: Hermione Granger _

_ Uniform manager: Ronald Weasley _

_ Equipment managers: Pansy Parkinson, Fred Weasley, George Weasley _

 

_ Drum majors: Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory, Blaise Zabini, Harry Potte _ r’

 

As he sprawls out lazily across his futon in an attempt to rid himself of the horrendous heat, Draco internally rolls his eyes. Not out of jealousy, but out of - well, he doesn’t know, but it isn’t _ jealousy _ . 

 

Harry fucking Potter finally emerges from their bathroom moments later with a fluffy towel around his waist and nothing else. Fucking tosser. Draco eyes him warily as he strides into the living room and goes to move Draco’s feet aside so he can sit down next to him. Draco is too tired to protest and sits up, all too aware that he’s got a smug grin and pompous aura about him. Draco squints. That’s  _ his _ job.

 

“Did you hea-”

 

“Potter,” he interrupts, rubbing his temples. “Yes, I fucking heard. Everyone and their bloody mother heard. Congratulations.” 

 

Draco really tries not to sneer but it truly is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He sighs for the umpteenth time and out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry’s face falter for  _ maybe _ one second. 

 

“Didn’t think I would get it, did you?”

The thing about Harry Potter is that he has this way about him. Typical-Gryffindor-Harry has never been good at acting or pretending that he’s not broken or severely depressed, wears every emotion on his sleeve for all to see. Draco sees it all living with him - the night terrors from a past worth hiding, episodes of anxiety - the works. So, Draco knows that he’s not actually being smug  _ or  _ pompous. However, Draco may or may not have intense feelings for the bloody wanker and all of Harry’s imperfections drive Draco’s heart closer to him. 

 

Draco rubs his eyes. “You’re fucking me, Potter. Of course I knew you would get drum major.” 

 

Harry places both hands behind his head and lounges back onto the arm of the futon, swinging his feet up so they lay in Draco’s lap. Draco shies away at the sudden closeness of Harry’s feet to his barely-clothed nether region. 

 

From this angle Harry looks too pretty - he’s all sharp lines and pure muscle. With the towel riding dangerously low on his hips he spots the thin trail of dark hair that leads to what’s  _ underneath _ the towel. Draco bites his lip and looks away before Harry notices that he’s staring. 

 

Harry smiles that goofy smile of his and it’s so adorable that Draco places a hand over his mouth to hide his own smile and takes a deep breath before removing it. 

 

“Stop being a tosser and help me organise our itinerary. It’s not even band camp yet and I already have band obligations.” 


	2. II. The Gnome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> draco is slowly spiraling for harry

The first day of their leadership camp isn’t _ too _ awful. Considering that it could have been 30 degrees hotter and ten times more humid, it wasn’t _ awful _ . Such “leadership camp” consists of, well, bullshit in Draco’s opinion. Essentially they teach 3-5th years how to teach the younger band members how to march and play their instruments. It’s tedious, annoying, and overall a waste of time. However, since Draco is the band president now, he has to have responsibilities and actually do things. 

 

When Draco enters the band room with his red polo and black shorts on (and trombone in hand, of course), he’s greeted by the many other band council members and drum majors in the same “uniform.” They’re bustling about in the bright as all hell band room, talking about their summer and what and who they did. Draco takes a seat in the front row by the podium where Harry is practice-conducting their pregame show. 

 

In the back of the band room there are lockers that trigger bad memories for Draco (that’s the place where Harry teases him the most) along with the ridiculous amount of percussion equipment and instruments. It’s far too busy in his opinion but it won’t be much better in a couple of days when the entire 250 members of their band are present and accounted for.

 

Currently, Harry is having what looks to be like a boring conversation with Dr. Alfshire. Alfshire is using his hands to explain something, probably the block rotation in their pregame if his hands violently drawing circles says anything, and Harry is simply standing there with his arms crossed across his chest, blank expression and all. Even now in this candid he’s stupid and perfect and  _ breathtakingly beautiful.  _ Even in their dreadful band polos he can see the veins in his biceps and Draco mentally begins to drool.

 

Suddenly, Blaise comes up behind him and places his hands over Draco’s eyes. 

 

“Hey-!” Draco sputters. 

 

“Guess who?”

 

“Blaise, you twat, I know it’s you,” Draco bites, throwing his hands up to remove Blaise’s own.

 

Blaise is smiling cheekily, moving so he’s facing Draco head on while sitting in an identical shitty plastic chair. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Saw you eyeing the ever living fuck out of Potter. “

 

Draco sneers, shoving Blaise’s shoulder with enough strength to hurt a fly. Maybe.

 

“I was  _ not _ , you ignorant bitch. How’s a drum major supposed to speak anyway, huh?” he asks, smirking when he realises that Blaise has frowned. “Aren’t they supposed to be posh as ever and, like, perfect?”

 

“Well,” Blaise rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “ _ Supposed to be _ .”

 

Draco pats him on the knee. “Don’t worry, tosspot, I’m just fucking with you.” 

 

Blaise gives a weary smile. “I’m stressed as hell, Draco. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be as good as Potter. Do you know how impossible that is?” 

 

Draco sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and stares forward for a beat and a half. Draco honestly doesn’t know himself.  _ Everyone _ knows that Harry Potter is perfect at everything. The worst part is that he’s too sodding _ nice _ and it’s physically not possible to be mean to him.  _ Unless _ you’re head over heels like Draco (he’ll never admit it though). 

 

Draco mirrors Blaise’s emphatic expression but goes in to pat Blaise on the back. 

 

“You’ll do amazing.”

 

\-----------------------------

  
  


Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t know how to keep his shirt on. 

 

Draco will reason because it is still 34 degrees celsius outside with 70% humidity but he doesn’t appreciate a half naked Harry Potter  _ whatsoever _ . 

 

They’re about six hours in; currently, they’re reviewing marching fundamentals on the absolutely dreadful practice field and it’s the most boring thing Draco has had to be put through. It’s hours upon hours of holding your instrument up, following directions, being quiet, suffering through the insane heat, and most of all, shirtless Harry. 

 

Most people have their shirts off at this point - including Blaise and even Ginny. Draco notes that Hermione has her hair up but her and Ron are suffering with their black band polos on instead of the red ones. Wankers. 

 

Draco honestly thinks that he will die in this marching block because Harry is glistening with sweat up on one of the four drum major podiums. He’s got a resplendent set of abs and it should just be fucking illegal for Harry Potter to be shirtless. Or around Draco naked. 

 

As Harry conducts and waves his hands around all Draco can do is stare at him. Draco will be the first to admit that maybe he’s gone a little haywire, but his roommate is seriously making his life hell right now. 

 

They call for a water break and Draco all but throws his trombone on the astroturf beneath him, sprinting to his water bottle off to the side to take a few sips so he doesn’t die. He idles for a few seconds and thinks that maybe applying more sunscreen is a good idea - he’ll be looking like a lobster by the end of the day if he doesn’t. 

 

Draco removes his own shirt so he can properly apply the lotion to his face and arms. He’s about halfway done before Harry walks up next to him. 

 

“How’s it going? It’s gotten pretty hot hasn’t it?” 

 

Draco smiles, continuing to rub his sunscreen on his forearms. “It goes, Potter. I feel like my trombone will be attached to my face at this point.” 

 

Harry matches Draco’s smile. He takes the tube of sunscreen from Draco’s hands and squeezes some onto his own hands without asking. “Do you want me to get your back?”  

 

Draco nods. “Please and thank you.”

 

Harry takes the sunscreen and slowly begins to massage it into Draco’s skin. He swipes deft fingers across his back and down his sides to apply it evenly, but Draco thinks that Harry is trying to fucking  _ tease  _ him. He feels the cool metal of the whistle elegantly draped around Harry’s neck and thinks he’s  _ way too close _ for it to be friendly. He can feel the heat radiating from Harry’s skin and it’s making Draco dizzy with want, high on tension that he can’t put his finger on.

 

“Want more?” Harry inquires nonchalantly, wiping the excess of the sunscreen on his own shorts. 

 

Draco gulps and clears his throat. “Erm, n-no. That’s alright. Thank you.” 

 

There’s three short whistles from Blaise, signaling that they had one minute to get back into their marching block. Draco is ever grateful because he’s blushing up a storm and slightly hard, so he’s quick to adjust his sunglasses and grab his trombone from the ground. 

 

“See you at dinner, Malfoy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> if you know the song that the title is named after hmu
> 
> if you know what the quote is from nut on my face


End file.
